Final Battle, New Beginning
by elderwood
Summary: A collection of alternate and missing scenes from The Battle of Hogwarts, in Hermione's point of view. T to be safe.
1. The Chamber of Secrets

**Final Battle, New Beginning**_ is a collection of alternate and missing scenes based on The Battle of Hogwarts from the movie. I'm anticipating a total of four shorts, and they will be in separate chapters._

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><p><strong>THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS<strong>

Hermione steeled herself for the task, gripping the fang until her knuckles paled. A glance at Ron as he nodded encouragingly was all she needed to overcome her hesitation. She took a breath and pinned her eyes on the cup. It amazed her that something so small and pretty could be so important, so dangerous. With a plunging motion, she brought the fang down, feeling it connect with soft metal; a dull popping sensation assured her that she had indeed pierced its gold wall. She had no idea what to expect next, and watched as the cup skittled away, towards the gaping mouth of Salazar Slytherin. A cold, unnatural wind issued from the ghastly sculpture, raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck as a fearful anticipation seized her.

Suddenly, the chamber came to life. The quietly rippling surfaces of the water that surrounded them now stirred, churning, swirling, rising. She scrambled to her feet and backed away quickly, not daring to remove her terrified gaze from the growing wall of angry water rising before her. Vaguely, she registered Ron pulling at her, and blindly followed him to wherever he was leading her. The wave drew menacingly closer, and seemed to be reaching its limit. Soon, she knew, it would break over them.

Thoughts ran through her mind. What would happen then? Would it crush them, sweep their bodies away like straw in flash flood waters? Would they meet their deaths drowning in it? She couldn't imagine a worse way to go, gasping vainly for air, for life. Or was it more than water? Was it some unknown potion, brewed from a recipe only found in the darkest potion book? Would it actually burn, or drive them insane? The possibilities were endless.

She gasped; the water was falling. _This is it_, she thought. But strong arms gathered around her, and she found herself cowering from the oncoming downpour, with Ron bracing himself firmly between her and danger. Then the water came down. It slapped against the stone floor with a sharp, deafening roar. It was ice cold, piercing like needles, and just as suddenly as the sensation began, she was numb. Perhaps the noise overwhelmed her other senses too. Still, with the force of its onslaught, Hermione could feel it drumming on Ron's back; his body vibrated as it pelted against him, and she could feel each terrible blow pass through him and thunder in her chest. But he didn't make a sound, and the strength with which he held her never faltered.

Slowly, the realization of their survival came to her. She heard the water recede with a sigh; it was clear that they had not nearly experienced the extent of the horcrux's wrath, only its last protest as it died. Ron straightened and, as he was still holding her, so did she. She felt his grip relax a little, and she allowed herself to turn in his arms and face him. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and water dripped from his chin and nose. He was panting a little, and she became conscious that she was as well. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes worriedly searching hers. She could only manage to nod; the adrenaline was still coursing through her, making her tremble.

And then in that moment, in his arms, and with him looking at her with such tenderness, she felt a rush of gratitude. How could she have gotten through any of this without him? He made her feel safe, and hopeful. Hermione buried her face in his neck, and drew him in a tight embrace. She wished he could know how glad she was that he was there with her, that he'd always been there for her. She felt him sigh, and a hand came up to stroke her hair. Then, there was a light pressure on her temple… had he just kissed her there? The idea moved her, and feelings which she had only come to understand properly in the last two years welled up inside. She turned to him and studied his face, and he looked back at her steadily, waiting patiently.

She really did love him. All those years he had exasperated her, angered her, confused her, she had still known that there was something about him from the start. Since the first time they met on the Hogwarts Express, she had been drawn to him, and decided that they were to be friends. Her eleven year old self had no idea why she had chosen him, and even when she was fifteen, she still hadn't discovered it. They were friends, that's why she cared so much, she had reasoned to herself.

Though she was terribly conscious of the shadow Ron constantly walked in, forever compared to his brothers and Harry, she herself could never help measuring her two best friends against each other. She loved them both dearly, but it was always Ron whom she turned to for comfort. It was with _him_ that she enjoyed an argument; _he_ who made her laugh more; _his_ attention that she craved; _his_ tokens and opinions she valued more... only _he_ could make her cry.

There was a time she tried to convince herself that her attraction to him was merely physical; her teenage hormones were to blame for noticing his tall lean frame, clear blue eyes, and lop-sided smile. She had even tried to direct her attentions to Harry instead, whom she was certain was far more compatible with her. _They_ were much more similar; surely, someone like Harry was better suited? But she still couldn't ignore the fact that it was _Ron_ who challenged her to better herself; control her temper, relax, be less of a know-it-all bookworm. She learned from him, grew from him; he made life interesting. Harry, on the other hand, was hardly involved in her life this way, and she had always felt that he preferred to slightly distance himself from her - from everyone - in any case.

Now, she looked into Ron's eyes and knew - without any doubt - that she loved him. She _loved_ him; so dearly, so wholly. And she saw that her pure, encompassing and inexplicably deep love was reflected back to her in his face. Their lips met; and though the kiss was gentle and tentative at first, nearly six years of pent up emotion had to give. And so, it deepened; tongues traced lips and hands pulled bodies closer. Why had it taken them so long? Hermione melted against the deliciousness of him; it was almost too much. She could barely breathe; breathing somehow became less a priority than giving in to years worth of unexpressed desire. Lips parted to allow tongues to meet, and hips pressed against each other with a similar urgency. A thrill coursed through Hermione, and she expressed it freely at her lips. Nothing existed except for this man in her arms, and she lost track of - and care for - all time, place and purpose, but for him.

Finally, they pulled away from each other, breaths shallow and ragged. Ron lightly brushed his thumb along her jawline, and her breath caught in her throat at the simplistic intimacy of his touch. The intensity in his eyes softened to a smile, and she smiled back, sharing in this perfect moment with him.

Then, the whole chamber shook as an explosion reverberated above them. A shower of dust and fine pebbles from the ceiling tinkled to the floor, and they were forced to return to reality, to the war. "Come on," Ron said, taking her hand, "we'd better find Harry."

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><p><em>And that was my version of The Kiss. What did you think?<br>_


	2. Goodbyes to Brothers: part 1

**Final Battle, New Beginning**_ is a collection of alternate and missing scenes based on The Battle of Hogwarts from the movie._

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><p><strong>GOODBYES TO BROTHERS<strong>

It wasn't right that the grounds of Hogwarts was so quiet. Had the Death Eaters actually withdrawn and allowed them that hour in which to regroup? The reality of the battle had started to fall over Hermione. As she walked, she saw more and more devastation. The courtyard they had crossed hundreds of times was covered in rubble from the surrounding walls. In that spot there, she remembered Hallowe'en all those years ago; that day Ron had first made her cry and by dinner, had become her friend along with Harry. And over there, so many memories of the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton friends they had made and wished farewell to at the end of fourth year.

The three of them said nothing as they numbly walked, not really knowing where exactly they were going, but instinct seemed to be taking them in the direction of the Great Hall. Suddenly, Hermione stopped, gripping Ron's arm. There was a body half-buried under the fallen rubble just ahead. It was a student, still in full robes and clutching a fractured wand. Harry bent over to assess the body and reported the sad news with a shake of his head. It was too much to bear. Hermione pressed her face into Ron's shoulder. He gave her a squeeze.

"Come on," she heard Harry say. "There's not much time."

She turned to him in disbelief. "We can't just leave him there! We've been _given _this time to take care of the fallen!"

But it was Ron who responded first. "Someone will come for him, we'll make sure of it," he told her assuredly. When all she did was stare at the body, he squeezed her hand, pulling her focus back. She was crushed by the sight of the desperation in his eyes. He whispered, "I need to find my family." Fearing she would break down in tears just trying to imagine what he must be feeling, she simply nodded, and cursed herself for her lapse in control. She would need to better fight the hysteria threatening to dissolve her reason.

As they started to make their way inside, a muted shriek like a bird call sounded behind them, and it echoed around the courtyard. They spun around, and Hermione froze at the sight before them. Massive, black creatures soared over the castle, sweeping high above then diving low in a spectacle of acrobatics. For the briefest moment, they had looked like Dementors, but Hermione quickly saw they were much larger; skeletal horses with enormous, bat-like wings, and she realized they were thestrals. In single file, several dived low before pulling back up, wings snapping at the air, then they rejoined the others before they all flew in one pulsating unit back over the Forbidden Forest.

She looked at Ron, who stared after them with a sense of wonder and fascination. When he turned to her, he frowned. She knew why. "Professor Snape," she said quietly, voicing his thoughts. He nodded, and they followed Harry up the stairs to the Great Hall.

The air was still in the hall, but it was heavily punctuated with emotion; grief-stricken sobs from every corner of the room, cries of relief from grateful friends who were glad to see each other survive the first wave, angry and frustrated mutterings from those still caught up in the battle, and the bellows and whimpers of those in pain. There were no floating candles, no enchanted ceiling, no magic at all, it seemed.

As they walked deeper into the hall, they passed many familiar faces, smudged with a mixture of dust and tears, weary and weighted down with the enormity of their mission. A few acknowledged them with small smiles, but most were far too busy tending to the injured who lay in camp bunks, to the dead who lay peacefully under sheets, and to the grieving who were unable to be consoled.

Hermione was terrified to be there, almost more so than to be in the heat of the fighting. At least _then_, she was able to act on the instinct of survival and draw on her years of study and practice. She knew how to cast effective spells quickly, to run, to hide. It was so much easier to do those things than stand in a room full of distraught friends, not knowing how to support them without needing help herself.

She saw Padma sobbing into her hands as Professor Trelawney patted her arm, tears escaping from under the large lenses she always wore. There was a covered body between them, and Hermione lowered her eyes quickly. Who was it? Lavender? Parvati? There were so many unaccounted for. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the floor, knowing her own emotions were on the brink. If she looked up to see someone crying, she would lose herself, and that was something she couldn't afford to do.

Suddenly, she felt Ron rush past her, scrambling forward. She was seized with fear, and her eyes followed him as he ran towards Mrs Weasley. _Oh, no. _She couldn't look, she couldn't. Ron had dropped to his knees, and still Hermione couldn't bring herself to see who of the Weasleys had fallen. "It's Fred," said a quiet voice beside her. Ginny watched as her family comforted each other; Mr Weasley had reached out again to George, bringing his son in a tight embrace, his face set like steel though his chin quivered; Mrs Weasley was now stroking Ron's hair as his body racked with poorly suppressed sobs.

Hermione didn't know what to do. Ginny's eyes were furiously blinking away tears as she looked at her broken family. "Some Death Eater had disarmed him just as Voldemort announced the cease fire. He could've left then, but the bastard decided to kill Fred before he did." She now turned to her friend, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked, "We don't even know who it was!" Hermione reached out and hugged her, and they sobbed into each other's shoulders.

Hermione was still numb with the news of Fred's death; she wasn't ready to deal with that herself just yet, but still she ached in the combined grief of the Weasleys, wishing that each one of her tears could take away their pain. She thought of Ginny, so young for such trauma; George, separated forever from his twin, there would be nobody who could understand his anguish; and Ron… She could hear him sobbing over Fred's body; the sound of it tore at her, and she cried harder into Ginny's shoulder.

As she began to master herself, Hermione heard a soft voice call, "Come here, Ginny," and the younger girl was drawn to it. She saw that it was Fleur, her silvery hair tangled, and her pretty face streaked with dried tears. She had an arm lovingly around Ginny, who had rested her head on her sister-in-law's shoulder and hiccuped as she gazed at her brothers. Fleur squeezed Hermione's hand and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you are okay, but Ron is needing you." They exchanged looks, and Hermione immediately understood. No matter how close they felt to the Weasleys, no matter how much they loved them, or were loved back, they were outsiders who needed to be the strong ones while they grieved. Hermione was struck by Fleur's kindly, almost maternal strength, and admiration filled her. She drew courage from the example, and was determined to be just as strong for Ron.

She removed the moisture from her cheeks with the edge of a sleeve and looked determinedly in Ron's direction. But as she made her approach, two more people were revealed to her; they had been lain out side by side near Fred. Her hands flew up to her mouth to suppress the cry trying to push its way from her chest. Professor Lupin and Tonks lay like rag dolls in stretchers, their faces bruised and dirty._ No. No, this can't be!_ Hermione heard herself wail in her head.

Professor Lupin, his entire life having been lived as an outcast, had only just accepted happiness to enter his life with a wife and a child. Now, everything had ended. Dear Tonks, the laughter and youthful energy of the Order, the one who was so very different from Lupin but loved him with such intensity that she fought to be with him, had just become a proud new mother. And what was to become of poor Teddy? Orphaned as a baby, never to know his parents. It was all so unfair. Fred, Lupin, Tonks… who else? Good people, good friends, gone.

Hermione knelt between their bodies and gingerly took each of their hands. They felt cold and heavy, but the strange sensation had to be dealt with; she couldn't bear to see their fingers parted by a mere inch. So, she did her best to place their hands together. It only made sense that it should be this way. As she interlinked their fingers, she noticed that Ron was now standing and looking down at Fred's pale and peaceful face. Everyone seemed to be watching him. He spoke, though to no one in particular, and his voice sounded dull and distant, "There are at least two dead students outside in the courtyard. Someone should bring them in."

Bill and Mr Weasley looked at each other and nodded. "We'll go," Bill told Ron, and he and Mr Weasley made their way to find the bodies.

Hermione approached Ron carefully. She'd never seen him cry before; it was strange and unknown territory, and she wasn't sure exactly what she should do, or how he would react to her witnessing him at his most vulnerable. So, she stood beside him and gently took his hand. He barely moved; he only acknowledged her by lowering his puffy eyes, and after he drew a great, shuddering breath, he walked quickly away from her.

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><p><em>I couldn't bear to see Lupin and Tonks' hands failing to touch, so this is my personal closure. Also, I was always surprised at how down to earth Fleur ended up being (happy with a simple wedding at The Burrow and then living in Shell Cottage), and have since imagined her with a strong, maternal air.<br>_


	3. Goodbyes to Brothers: part 2

_Thank you for all the lovely reviews__! And now, the conclusion of the angst-fest..._

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><p>In dismay, Hermione watched Ron walk away. He paused for a moment when he reached an empty camp bed by the doors, and stood over it with his head bowed and shoulders slumped. Then suddenly, he reached down for the bed, picked it up with a great bellow, and threw it bodily against the wall. It hit the stone with a crack and clattered to the floor in a heap. The hall fell silent and many heads turned in his direction. Ron glared at them all, daring someone to challenge him, but everyone seemed to understand. They forgave his outburst and returned their attentions to what had previously occupied them, and the hall began mumbling again.<p>

Hermione felt like she was dying inside, witnessing Ron's turmoil and being completely helpless to soothe his pain. She hadn't realized that she'd instinctively taken a few steps towards him, and even reached out a hand, as if half the length of the hall was no distance at all. Her hand slowly returned to her side. Before he escaped through the doors, she was sure he had let his expression soften when his gaze fell on her momentarily.

But what did it mean? Was it an apology for his behavior? An expression of shame for some perceived weakness? Or was it an invitation to follow him?

A hand touched her shoulder, and she saw that it was Mrs Weasley. "I wish I could help him," Hermione told her.

She nodded in understanding, then added, "I think you're the only one who can, dear."

"But I don't know how," she confessed, her eyes searching Mrs Weasley's. What could _she_ do or say that was any better than what a father, mother, brother or sister could?

Mrs Weasley looked at her with sad, kind eyes, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "You only have to be there," she simply said. She pulled Hermione into a warm hug. When she let go, she gave a final encouraging smile and returned to her family.

Hermione hurried towards the doors but hesitated by the broken camp bed when she saw a familiar figure. "Reparo," Neville muttered, crouching over the twisted frame, and it straightened out with a dull creak and snap. He looked up at her and gave a small, polite smile, but there was no happiness behind it. He stared into the dim passage. "He went up those steps," he said to Hermione, nodding a little to his right. She squeezed his shoulder and tried to convey her thanks through her eyes. Words wouldn't come. She had grown up with Neville, but they had just greeted each other like it didn't particularly matter that they had both survived the war so far. When had they become soldiers, so haunted by death and violence that the miracle of life and survival had diminished? They were still children.

Outside the Great Hall, Hermione saw a slumped figure at the top of the stairs that Neville had indicated. Ron was leaning on a heavily chipped balustrade, his head in his arms. She climbed the steps slowly and deliberately, trying to think of what to say to him. She should offer words of hope and encouragement… but every line she considered sounded trite and meaningless in her head. She should offer words of condolence at the very least, but nothing that came to mind sounded remotely right.

How could anything she say be worth anything to him right now? How could she know how he was feeling when she had never lost anyone close to her? She thought of her parents; yes, she grieved when she had sent them away after purging any memory or evidence of herself from their lives. But still, they were _alive_; there was still a chance to be reunited with them.

Hermione recalled that terrible afternoon. Where had she gone then, but directly to The Burrow? To Ron, who had held her tightly and let her cry as long as she needed to. He had been so accepting of her demands, she now realized. When she had run straight to his room and told him what she'd done, he took her in his arms without a word or pause. They'd sat on his bed in silence as she exhausted herself with her tears and eventually drifted to sleep. When she awoke, she had found herself curled up next to him, still in the close span of his arms, while he continued to slumber. Hermione remembered with perfect clarity, the deep, resonant sound of his breathing. It had been so soothing and reassuring that she had dozed off again. It was only now that Hermione realized he had even skipped dinner that night so she wouldn't be alone for a minute.

And all too suddenly, she was standing beside him at the top of the crumbling stone stairs.

Neither of them moved or uttered a sound for what seemed hours. _Help me help you,_ Hermione desperately thought, wishing he would respond to her. A fresh start of tears started to cloud her eyes again; she felt like she was failing him. What kind of friend was she, who could not even find the right words to say? How could she claim to love him more dearly than anyone if she didn't know how to comfort him? "Ron," she heard herself say, her voice quivering as tears spilled onto her cheeks. "_I'm here._"

And it was enough.

He lifted his head and looked at her through bloodshot eyes. She could see the tracks his tears had made through the soot across his cheeks. He straightened and stared at her wordlessly, his expression impossible to read. Hermione dared to touch him; she raised a hand and stroked his cheek lightly with shaking fingers. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, then more tears escaped from under his fair lashes, already clumped with wetness. He covered her hand in his and pressed it firmly against his cheek, as if needing to be reassured that she was real. Then he finally stepped forward and embraced her, sobbing into her hair.

She pulled him close, squeezing him tightly as a sense of relief washed over her. He was letting her see him like this, he was accepting her support, trusting her with his most raw emotions, sharing one of the worst and most personal moments in his life. And she wasn't going to cry. This was _his_ turn to let go, and she was the one to be holding him up this time. This was her moment to be strong for him.

Slowly, his sobs subsided and for a while, they stood there in each other's arms, neither wishing to let go. But someone was approaching. They could hear footsteps shuffling towards them, stopping partway up the stairs. "Hey," came Bill's gentle voice. They turned to him. "Harry's gone. McGonagall saw him leaving several minutes ago, but wasn't sure to where." Hermione exchanged looks with Ron, feeling her chest fluttering with renewed anxiety at the news. Bill seemed to share their concern because he nodded. "Well, Ginny's beside herself," he continued, "but I thought you two'd better know, if you don't already." Then he returned to the Great Hall.

Ron and Hermione silently made their way down the stairs as well, unsure of what to do next; their plans had always revolved around Harry's. Halfway down, on the step where Bill had stood, Ron stopped and sat. Hermione joined him, placing a hand on his knee. He covered it with his own, then took it in both hands, stroking her thumb absent-mindedly.

"Why do you think he went?" Ron finally said, his voice scratchy and thick, "Bloody idiot. Doesn't he know we'd keep fighting?"

"Maybe that's why; he's gone to _stop _the fighting."

Ron snorted. "And trust Voldemort to keep his word? Idiot."

"Don't be angry with him, Ron. He's not gone for himself."

"I'm not," Ron said, brushing a tear away. "But _why_, though?"

Hermione sighed. She had had suspicions for a while; she'd always been good at deduction and piecing together clues. More and more it had looked like she was correct, but she had become so accustomed to the horrible idea that it hardly surprised her now. "Haven't you ever wondered why Harry has such a connection with Voldemort? Why he's been able to see in his mind, or through his eyes, and feel his emotions? I mean, how could it be possible? It's never happened in history without the help of a spell or charm, and it's too much of a coincidence to happen between these particular wizards, don't you think?"

There was a pause as Ron considered this. "Yeah, but they're not just any wizard. It's Harry and Voldemort."

"Exactly. And what's so special about them?" Hermione asked, vaguely conscious of the fact that they were talking like the many times she had tutored him in the common room when he couldn't quite grasp the gist of a lesson.

"Harry survived the killing curse, and Voldemort would've died too if not for those bits of his soul hidden away in horcruxes… Hang on…" Ron's eyes widened. His gaze shifted back and forth like he was scanning a copy of the Daily Prophet. "How are horcruxes made again?" he asked, but Hermione knew she didn't need to answer. Ron stared at her. "And he's a Parselmouth too… Merlin," he breathed , "how long do you suppose he's known?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered, shaking her head sadly.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. Hermione shifted closer and leaned towards him so that their heads touched, and they sat there in silence for a few moments, staring at their clasped hands. Ron spoke again, and Hermione was glad he felt so comfortable with her. "I wish we could've talked before, you know, he and I… before he… I wish I could've said…"

Hermione saw tears drop into his lap and she squeezed his hand. "He knows, Ron, I'm sure he does!" she whispered urgently, wanting Ron to understand that he had no need to wonder and regret. "How often have you two looked at each other and just laughed because you've known exactly what you've both been thinking?"

Ron didn't say anything, and Hermione frowned at the thought that he had essentially lost two brothers in such a short space of time. Suddenly, it struck her that _she_ had lost Harry too, her best friend and the closest to a brother she'd ever had. In the past, she had actually imagined that if she'd had a brother, he would be an awful lot like Harry. Poor Harry; his whole life he had fought to live and now, to realize that he should actually die… what must he be feeling? That familiar heaviness started in her chest again and she choked back a sob. She felt Ron tighten his hold on her hands and together, they quietly prayed for Harry.

There was another sound. Someone else was approaching, their shoes knocking carelessly on the debris strewn across the floor, and Ron and Hermione turned to see who it was.

Harry.

The next minute was a blur. Hermione recalled that Harry said something about going to the Forbidden Forest, and she and Ron had tried to convince him otherwise, even though they had already come to terms with his leaving. The only clear thought in her mind at the time was her own voice yelling at herself to calm down and think straight; the only definite feeling through her body was the pain of the reality of Harry's chosen fate. She was practically hysterical, though her body never betrayed her mind's rare muddled state.

She remembered sobbing that she would go with him; she didn't want him to be alone in the dark forest, surrounded by cackling Death Eaters. He should be around friends and people who loved him. But he wouldn't have it, and she knew it was useless to argue. She didn't think she had the wit to at that point. All she could do was throw her arms around him in the tightest embrace, in an embrace that could never last long enough.

When she pulled away, she brushed away her tears and watched him and Ron trade looks like they both wanted to say something - the same thing - but not a word passed between them. Hermione didn't think it was needed, in any case. She only hoped that her embrace had expressed just as much of the love, admiration and gratitude that Harry and Ron exchanged in that moment.

She and Ron watched in silence as Harry marched down the steps to his fate, staring after him until they couldn't see him anymore. Then, they reached out for each other, clinging desperately for comfort; this time, they allowed their grief for Harry to pour out freely.

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><p><em>I liked using Bill in this story; he has a lovely sense of gravity, sensitivity, and reasonableness about him. Also, I don't think enough people realized that Ron and Hermione were probably also grieving Harry and not just Fred when they were sitting on the steps. <em>

_Anyway, I whipped this story out pretty fast, but there will have to be a small wait for the other scenes I'm planning. Muggle life, you know. I hope you've enjoyed reading so far. Until next time...  
><em>


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